


Smells Like Home

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [80]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, TV Show spoilers, as it pertains to demons, snake biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Crowley likes the way Aziraphale smells.





	Smells Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my reaction ficlets to the show: a pair of ficlets from the line "I know what you smell like" in relation to Crowley's snake-like aspects.

It would be weird if he licked Aziraphale. Crowley was perfectly well aware of that. It wasn’t something people did, licking each other. Well. It wasn’t something friends did, or casual acquaintances, or company men from rival firms, which were all the categories he could reasonably put himself and Aziraphale into, even if they weren’t all the categories he wanted them to be in. Aziraphale would have balked at intimate words like partner or companion, words that implied they were more to each other than simply beings on opposite sides of the great cosmic game who occasionally found themselves working side by side in close quarters. Aziraphale barely liked the word friend, when it came right down to it. The angel was too preoccupied with what was Right and Proper. Not that Crowley blamed him. An angel could find themselves in a lot of hot water if they didn’t constantly think about Right and Proper. Crowley had, although water was a misnomer for the literal fires of Hell that one tiny lapse had earned him. He didn’t want Aziraphale to suffer that. So he joked about temptation, but he didn’t really push.

Anyway, the point was, they weren’t close enough for that sort of thing. Licking. It didn’t matter that Aziraphale’s scent was one of the most comforting things Crowley had ever encountered. It didn’t matter that he marked every change in it, that he could pick it out of a crowd of hundreds, if not thousands. And it definitely didn’t matter that nothing could calm Crowley down on a bad night like walking into Aziraphale’s bookshop and taking a deep breath. Crowley smelled with his tongue, like any other snake, but he had to be content with tasting it in the air, diluted and faint. To get it from the source, to run his tongue over Aziraphale’s skin to scent him properly, would have been a violation. It would be weird. Aziraphale would likely hate him for it, and even if the angel seemed capable of getting over any of Crowley’s missteps given enough time, it would mean time apart to let the air between them clear.

So Crowley marked the changes in Aziraphale’s scent through the air. He noticed each new cologne, each minuscule shift of the smell underneath. He strolled into the bookshop some nights, acting nonchalant and joking about being out to make trouble, because Aziraphale couldn’t know that Crowley had nightmares of the past and of the future, of Falling and of losing the one good thing he had left, and he would inhale, taking the air deep into his lungs and hoping it might infuse there when he left again. And sometimes, hating himself for wanting it, hating himself for doing something so invasive without the angel’s knowledge, Crowley would take the cushion from Aziraphale’s sofa and sneak it home. He would curl up on his stylish bed and hug the ugly patterned thing to his chest. He would press his mouth to it and inhale. He would sometimes, with tremendous guilt and shame, press his tongue against the fabric and imagine his face was buried in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, the angel’s arms around him, safe and comforting and home.

***

“So, I know this is a really weird request,” Crowley said, “and in light of that, feel totally free to tell me to bugger off if it makes you uncomfortable, but I was wondering…would it be alright if I licked you?”

They were in Aziraphale’s bookshop, and it had been weeks since the world didn’t actually end. Weeks since Aziraphale spent the night, since Crowley stepped into Hellfire that wouldn’t actually do anything to him and then subsequently shed his angel’s skin like the snake he was. In those weeks, a few subtle but significant things had shifted. They had a talk, that night Aziraphale spent at his flat, and in hindsight it had seemed rather silly to act like they weren’t completely enamored with each other in a way no human language really had the scope to describe in words. They’d decided they were “dating.”

Crowley had pushed for married, citing the Arrangement, and Aziraphale had countered that they were engaged at best, since there hadn’t been any clear romantic intent. Crowley was willing to let it go, since either way it meant having Aziraphale in that way, holding hands and embracing and, well, doing what they’d always done, but without the assumption the other didn’t feel the same.

So, Crowley was sprawled on one end of Aziraphale’s sofa and Aziraphale was on the other end, and it was like before but not, in tantalizing ways. And that was why Crowley had asked. Aziraphale looked up at the question and tilted his head, his brow furrowing like he didn’t quite understand. “You…want to lick me?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well.” Crowley hauled himself upright, tucking his legs onto the cushion under him and draping an arm over the back of the sofa so he could look at Aziraphale properly. “It’s, uh…it’s a snake thing. It’s got to do with the tongue.”

“You don’t have a snake’s tongue,” Aziraphale pointed out. He didn’t seem disgusted, at least, which Crowley was counting as a win.

“I can,” he said. “If I want to. Anyway, that’s not what I meant. It’s not about the look of the thing. It’s about how it’s built.”

“How it’s built?”

Crowley nodded. “Snakes smell with their tongue.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, who had likely read that somewhere and had forgotten until Crowley had said it. He shifted, turning a little more towards Crowley. “So, to be clear, when you say you want to lick me, what you’re actually asking is if it would be alright to smell me?”

“Er…” Crowley hesitated. “Yes?” He added, “It’s a comfort thing, really. It’s a bit stupid, but you smell _safe_ , angel. Like home. And that calms me down and makes me feel good and I just like it, but if it’s too weird I won’t bring it up again, I promise.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and there was something about the way that his curiosity morphed into unadulterated affection that made Crowley’s insides go all warm and gooey. Aziraphale smiled and held his arms out, and Crowley slid into his lap without a second thought. Aziraphale stroked a hand through his hair. “It isn’t weird at all. You never told me you felt that way.”

“Couldn’t,” Crowley mumbled, leaning into the touch. “Didn’t have you before. Not like this.”

“You have me now,” Aziraphale soothed. “As I have you.”

Crowley smiled, his eyes half-lidded in lazy fondness. He turned his head a little, catching his nose along Aziraphale’s wrist, and pressed a kiss to the skin. He felt Aziraphale’s pulse startle under his lips, like it had forgotten to beat until Crowley had touched him. He let his tongue flick out, just a little, and tasted the angel’s scent, pure and sweet.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, and blushed faintly in the firelight. When Crowley looked at him curiously, the blush deepened. “That tickled,” he explained.

Crowley’s smile widened. He leaned it, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s neck, just above the beige collar of his coat, pushing it and Aziraphale’s button-up aside until he could get at the juncture of the angel’s throat. “Is this alright?”

Aziraphale’s hand cradled the back of his head. The other wrapped around Crowley’s waist, holding him steady, although he didn’t need it. “Quite alright,” Aziraphale murmured, and then shuddered a little as Crowley licked from his pulse-point up to the corner of his jaw. Crowley hummed in contentment, thrilled that Aziraphale was letting him do this. He was basking in the angel’s warmth, wrapped up in the heat and the scent of his skin, stronger at the source but so familiar, so comforting, and all his. He had never felt so loved.


End file.
